The Little Broken Bird
by IAmTheStars
Summary: I thought we had escaped the League. I never thought they would be here, in my home, pressing a knife into my throat. I never thought I would see Talia again, acting like nothing had ever happened, like she had never betrayed me. And most of all, I never thought I would ever meet him, the man who saved her, who I thought was just a figment of her imagination. "Hello, Birdie..."
1. Prologue: Sick Irony

**Okay, here I go! I saw TDKR almos two weeks ago and has been stuck in my head ever since. it was so amazing that I can't get it out of my mind! I especially love Bane (is that weird?) and Tom Hardy's performance. I really wanted to make a Bane/OC fic, so here it is! Please read and tell me what you think!**

* * *

What do you do when you loose your only reason to live? What do you do when that reason is ripped away from you and you have no idea how, why, or when?

How do you move on from that?

Do you try to forget?

No, that's impossible.

Do you try to find another one?

No, it's not impossible, but highly improbable.

Would I become lost?

Probably.

Would I become someone's reason?

No one has ever cared enough.

Or, would I just die?

They seem such simple questions, yet all the answers evade me in the form of an unconscious man lying in the bed before me. He is the only one left who can answer these questions, and I don't even know if he will make it through the night.

How could he, with a huge hole in the middle of his chest?

Looking down at his sedated form, I realize with a clenching heart that he has now become my reason for living, even if for a short time. I don't know if he has all the answers to my questions, but what he does have to say may determine my own answers to them. Of what may become of my life, like he holds my life in his hands.

Fuck. That's a terrible thought.

But I need these answers. If I never get them, then I may never forgive myself.

I can't believe it. It kills me to think of him like that, as my only way to the truth, my only way to find out what happened. Him of all people. The man who has ruined my life, the man who attempted to destroy a whole city and almost succeeded. The man who I hate more than anything.

Bane.

Will he feel the same pain as I am? Is he capable of such a human emotion? He must be. I know he loved her. He hid it well, but I could see it in his eyes, the only feature on his face he ever let anyone see. I had loved her once too, though not in the same way. She was my best friend, my only friend and sister in some ways, but that friendship broke years ago with her betrayal. I loved her, but Talia had become too much like her father, and in the end, she ended up dying like her father and maybe I will die like my own. I will miss her, and it breaks my heart that I could never convince her to change, to become the Talia I once knew, but there is no way I could ever defend her actions. I feel like a failure. I feel stupid for thinking that she would ever change. Between the two of us, she was always the more stubborn one.

I realize too late that tears were escaping my eyes when I feel the little drops of salt and water land on my hands and chest, stinging the cuts and gashes that I have yet to clean. I quickly wipe them away and bury my sadness and anguish deep inside me, replacing them with anger at both him and myself. At him for ruining what little life I had, and at me for letting the tears fall.

No. I will not cry at his bedside, I will not pity him for suffering like I am, and I will NOT show vulnerability in his presence, even though he is not awake to see it. Not again. I promise myself. He may be the one who took away my reason for living, and I will not pity a man like him for loosing one of his.

I need my answers. I need to know what happened while I was in captivity. I will never forgive myself if I don't. I need to ensure that Bane lives through this, even if just for a little while longer. I need him to. I hate saying it, I hate admitting it, but the truth is, he holds the truth.

I never thought I would say this. I the old me would have died before so much as whispering these three words. I almost laugh at the sick irony, but...

I need him.

I need Bane.

* * *

**So here is my extremely nervous, nerve wracking, and excited first part. I know it's a bit short, but it is only a prologue after all. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did I make any mistakes? Please, Please, Please tell me what you think and I will post another chapter soon! :)**

**Oh, and I also decided to have a sort of question at the end of each chapter for you guys to answer! So! The question for this chapter is:**

**If you're reading this, I'm assuming that you also enjoyed Banes character. If so, what was your favorite part about his character? Mine is his ability to still have a bit if human emotion inside of him despite his upbringing and chalanges. That tear that he shed at the end of the movie made my heart melt! **

**-IAmTheStars**


	2. A Dreadful Blue Flower

**Hey, I sincerely apologize for how long it took to get this chapter posted and I'm just going to warn you now that updates may be a bit inconsistent. I really wish I had more time to write, but unfortunately a little think called life tends to get in the way. But if I could, I would update each and every single day! I promise!**

**Thank you to magandenisefox, Bane's Muse, and skycord1990 for reviewing! It always means so much to me that people take time out of there days to tell me what they thought of my writing. I truly appreciate it. :)**

**Oh yeah, and in the last chapter, I forgot to disclaim cause I'm an idiot. (faceplam): Yes, I do own the Batman trilogy and have made millions of dollars off it. And I do purposely choose to drive my parents zillion year old car that is the color of puke. I would be crazy not to. (Please note the sarcasm)**

**Anyway, if any of you actually read this authors note somewhere in your review include the word 'slimy'! I want to see how many people actually read these.**

**I hope you enjoy! **

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_I'm walking down the line_  
_That divides me somewhere in my mind_  
_On the border line_  
_Of the edge and where I walk alone_

_Read between the lines_  
_What's fucked up when everything's alright_  
_Check my vital signs_  
_To know I'm still alive and I walk alone_

* * *

Waking up has always been a hard thing for me. The transition from dreams and nightmares to reality is confusing and disorienting, sometimes wonderful and other times terrible. I guess it just depends on the dream I'm having. Some days I wake up and hide under the covers like a child, too scared to see if the monsters I had dreamed up really were standing over my bed with fire and swords, ready to kill me. I feel like I'm chocking on smoke and all of my burn scars feel like they are on fire once again.

These dreams are pretty annual.

My unconscious can sometimes be pretty fucked up.

But on other days, like today, I long to go back into my dream world, where I can live freely and happily. Where death doesn't follow me and where nightmares never plague me. This dream is so rare and so wonderful, it makes me cry. This dream I haven't dreamed since I was a little girl.

A very, very foolish little girl.

I remember when I was little, all the silly thoughts and notions that went through my head. All of the dreams and hopes for living an adventurous and charmed life. Possibly marrying a handsome man, having a few children and maybe even a dog. We would live in a beautiful house in the mountains where we could climb and laugh and play. My handsome, muscular husband with his wavy black locks of hair and charming green eyes would love to shower me with gifts and tell me how much he adored me. We would swim together in the lake, dance in the rain and share kisses in the moonlight. It was such an incredibly cheesy, wonderful thing to dream about, to hope for, especially when all there ever was around me was hate, deception and darkness.

I realize now how stupid I was. How childish it was to think of silly fantasies.

Sometimes I try to fool myself into thinking that it wasn't ridiculous to think of such things, that I never could have known what would happen, or how my life would change. But I quickly push those thoughts away to a corner of my mind that I hardly ever visit, along with the fantasy of a perfect life. Of course it was foolish to think like that. Somewhere in my mind I knew that those things would never come true, that those were thought of as silly and naïve in a place like that. Hardened warriors are born there. Ruthless assassins are constantly living in the shadows if its halls. There are no charming knights in shining armor to sweep me off my feet and take me on adventures. There is no room for silly fantasies when you are raised in and apart of The League of Shadows.

Or were.

I ignored the warnings in my mind and kept dreaming the stupid dream, and when the real world crash landed in my dream land, the reality of my future was that much harder to bear. Just like now, as I lay on my back in my small musty bed in my small musty bedroom, I bring my hands to my head and try to push back tears that want to escape. I can't pity myself anymore. I'm past all feelings of pity and sadness. I've turned those parts of my mind off.

Or at least I try to convince myself of that.

It doesn't really work.

Should have figured.

I take a deep breath, turn off the un-shed tears, and pull myself up out of my bed. I need to forget this. I need to push it away. I stretch as quickly as I can in my tiny bedroom, pulling and stretching my arms and legs in almost impossible angles. I shake all of my limbs and slap my face a few times to wake myself up. I breathe slowly, trying to clear my mind of all unwanted thoughts. I stand on the tips of my toes, inhaling as I do so, before abruptly dropping onto the ground. I do rounds of push-ups and sit ups, falling into my daily routine that I've had since I was 8. Some habits that the League drives into you never really leave I guess.

I push myself harder to do more and more until I feel sweat drip from my brow and I am panting. With every push into the ground, I push away my stupid dream. With every punch to the air, I attack the monsters of my mind. It hurts to stand back up again, but that's the only I know I am doing it right.

I lift my hands into the air and stretch one more time and in doing so, I am greeted with the foul smell of my now sweaty armpits.

Damn. I stink.

I am quick to take off my underwear and t-shirt that now smell of my old dusty carpet and pull some new ones from my closet them along with a pair of pants and a bra with an admittedly large cup size. I look at it with distaste. I hate these things, and I will always envy girls who have boobs small enough to leave their house without one. I sigh longingly at the thought. If only.

Of course we don't have warm water in this piece of shit apartment, but that is the one flaw of this home that I'm okay with. My hot muscles tense up at the shocking contact with the water, put they soon ease and relax as they get used to the cold. I can't say the same for my skin though. The countless burn marks covering it sting like a bitch, but they become easy to ignore after the countless long years of having them. They distract me from things I would rather not think about. The relaxation and distracting pain is short lived though. I make myself leave my imaginary safe sanctuary of the shower and reluctantly force myself to dress. Being careful to avoid the painful burns, I quickly but gently throw on my under garments and some torn up jeans. I pull the long sleeves of my t-shirt down to cover the several deforming burn marks that cover them with the sigh and a shake of my head.

I grab my fingerless gloves and leave the foggy bathroom so I can head out, but not before stopping my father's room. I am light on my booted feet, not making a sound as I enter his room and stand over him with a sad smile across my lips.

I may have not gotten my handsome knight in shining armor, but my Dad is the closest thing to it. He's the only family I have left. To loose him would be the end of the world for me. He has saved me countless times and now it is my turn to do the same. Despite the hardships his condition brings, it doesn't bother me. He would do the same for me.

I lift my hand to brush the side of his deformed cheek and adjust the oxygen tubes on his face, being careful not to disturb him. I brush one of his very few strands of hair out of his eyes and wince when he groans in his sleep. He is in pain. It's becoming worse. The burns covering his whole body leaves him looking more like an alien than a man.

Between the two of us, he suffered the worst of the injuries.

I stroke the back of my hand across deformed face one more time, trying to remember what he looked before. It gets harder and harder with each passing day to remember his once handsome face. The more I have to struggle to recover the image in my mind, the more I die a little inside. It hurts to be unable to remember what your father once looked like. I hate knowing that that image is slowly leaving my mind as the years pass.

I remember his smiling tan face and wise grey eyes. His dirty blonde hair made him look dashing despite being well into his forties and his broad defined shoulders defied his age. He was perfect, and in some ways he still is. Despite his pain, he still tries to take care of me, tries to protect me from my nightmares and comforts me.

He is perfect.

"I love you, Daddy." I whisper before slipping on my gloves and leaving our rundown apartment.

* * *

The walk through London is a quiet one, but most people aren't to keen waking up at 5:30 in the morning and going on a walk on a Saturday. The streets are mostly empty, but I am still careful and walking only in the shadows, blending in and going unnoticed by everyone I pass. My dark clothes blend in and my stray strands of hair that escaped from the ponytail under my hood are sticking to my face because of the dewy morning. My footsteps are as silent as air, not making a sound as I trudge down the cold streets, totally unseen. Not even the middle aged woman out for an early morning smoke notices me as I brush by, not even two inches away.

I'm not too great at many things, but I'm pretty damn great at being invisible.

But despite my confidence in my disappearing, after all of these years of being free of the League, I have never escaped the feeling of being watched. Of being tracked. Whenever I'm in public I can't help but be in constant fight or flight. I am always on edge, the hairs on the back of my neck always prickling, my eyes always scanning, searching for escape routs and possible threats. No matter how many times I look around, no matter how well I know my surroundings, the feeling never leaves me.

It's kind of a curse really.

My muscles are tense, me eyes are frantic and I pick up my pace, eager to get away from the eerie feelings. I search for a familiar blue sign.

There it is.

**'Dr. Martins Medical Practictitioner Group'**

The large blue sign sits in front of its respective building and the tenseness in my shoulders starts to ease with the familiarity. Here is home away from home, I guess. I pass the front doors and walk around to the side of the building and look up with a frown.

Of course she had to move her office to the second floor.

With an irritated huff I start the easy climb up the building, grabbing onto ledges and pipes until I make it to the large window. I look through it and see her back is to me, sitting at her desk and doing some early morning paperwork. My hands forms into a fist, poised to knock, but a mischievous thought enters my mind and a small smile escapes me.

Here is my once in every thousand years chance.

Instead of knocking, I slide open the window and slipping in so quickly and silently that she didn't even feel a breeze. Her back is still to me and all I can see is her white lab coat and tight gray bun. I can tell that she is deep in thought. The pen in her hand is unmoving and her eyes stare into nothing.

She is going to get a good scare out of this.

I approach her silently and lean forward until my lips are next to her ear. I almost blow it by bursting out laughing at the thought of scaring her, but I keep myself under control and inhale lightly. My hands make their way to her back and slowly move up them.

"Moira….."

She doesn't scream or shout in fright, but instead turns incredibly fast for a woman her age and stabs her pen at my throat that I dodge with ease. Her wide grey eyes and look of pure astonishment are enough for me and I start to chuckle when her fearful look turns to one of outrage.

"Wren!" She whisper yells at me and I start to chuckle even more. "I could have killed you!" Despite having a gentle British accent, she still manages to sound angry.

"No you couldn't have." I say trough a chuckle while removing my jacket and throwing on the small loveseat she has against the wall. She rolls her eyes.

"Well you shouldn't scare an old woman like that. You'll give her a heart attack." I feel a bit of pride swell in me when she says 'scare'. It is no easy feat to scare her. I try to offer her a small apologetic smile, but I know she can see I'm not that sorry. She is like a bullshit detector.

"Sorry." I say halfheartedly and she waves off my apology.

"One day you're going to end up putting me in a hospital." She mutters and I look around the room, gesturing to her with my eyes where exactly she is. She just gives me a very un-amused smile in return.

"Don't be a smartass." She says, turning back to her work. I can't help it, but my smile turns affectionate. Moira Martin is the closest I have ever come to having a mother and she is just the kind of mother I need. From her dry humor to her no bullshit attitude. She is a hard ass woman who knows how to put even the scariest people in their place. She has no problem putting me in my place, which I occasionally need.

I walk up to her desk and sit on it, waiting patiently for her to turn her attention back to me. I can tell she is still a little bitter from her small scare but I don't make any move to take her attention. One thing I've learned about Moira over the years it that you do not command her. If you try to, there will be hell to pay. No woman –or possibly man- has a wrath as terrifying as hers.

"Why did you come here today?" She asks me without looking up from her paperwork, her voice still a little annoyed. Now I'm starting to feel a little bad. "I wasn't expecting you for another week."

I take a deep breath before answering, preparing myself for her reaction to what I'm about to tell her.

I am not looking forward to this.

"We…We ran out earlier than we thought." I say quietly while looking at the wall to my right, not wanting to see the look on her face when I tell her this.

"..." Silence. "...The doses I gave should be lasting longer, Wren." She tells me with a stern voice. I don't need to look at her to know hat she is a little pissed. I can feel her eyes burning holes into the side of my face. If her hard tome was any indicator that she was even mad at me, the usage of my name means she must be seething on the inside.

Shit.

"If he takes too much he could-"

Oh God. Not this lecture again.

I don't think I can listen to it again.

I snap.

"You think I don't know that already?" I cut her off with my frustrated reply, my voice reaching a yell. "He is in so much constant pain, Moira! It's just- It's so hard to-" I can't even finish my words without my voice cracking and I cradle my head in my hands, feel the ever persistent headache coming back.

"He's going to die if you keep going at this rate." She says harshly. I know in the back of my mind that she says it this way because she cares for my father as much as I do. But it's in the back of my mind.

A place where I like to ignore things.

"Dammit Moira!" I snap angrily and stand up. "He's growing immune to the medicine! The more we use it, the less effective it is. We keep on having to up the doses, but the more he takes the weaker he becomes!" My voice has risen and I can see it's pissing her off even more, but I don't care and push it to the back of my mind, choosing to ignore once again.

"You think I don't know that already?" She yells back, mocking my earlier words. She too stands up and I am forced to look up when she does. "I know he's growing immune, but the drugs can be toxic!"

"But he's in pain! Do you have to hear him scream at night Moira? Do you have to see him cry for death because the pain becomes too much?"

"Don't you dare say I don't know what pain looks like! Which one of us is the doctor?"

"Which one of us is his daughter?" I retort. My voice is breaking and my eyes are tearing up, but I keep yelling. "Which one of us is about to loose the only family I have left? I can't loose him!"

"He's going to die!

"DON'T SAY THAT!"

"DON'T IGNORE IT!"

"STOP IT!"

I collapse to the ground, the truth proving too much for my legs to carry. I lean against the side of her desk and let my tears fall. I feel like I'm chocking and my chest feels like its being crushed by a ton of bricks. I can't keep the hopelessness from ebbing its way into my mind and right now I just want to give up.

What's the point?

I feel so weak. So helpless.

"I don't know what to do anymore…" I whimper. I hide my face in my hands, trying to hide my tears from her.

I feel a soft pat on my knee and look up to see Moira back in her chair, rubbing it softly, her rare affectionate side making its self known. She looks at me softly and with out saying any words, she says she understands, but does not approve.

"I'm sorry." I say softly, meaning it this time.

She studies me for a long moment and I secretly wish I could just melt into the carpet. I hear her sigh.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Please." I beg. The desperation I can hear in my voice makes me want to puke.

She nods at me and gives my knee one last pat before standing and pulling me up with her. She sets me on her desk before I know it, she's back in doctor mode.

"And how are you doing?" She asks like nothing had happened, like he just hasn't gotten into a screaming fight. She grabs my hands, removing my gloves and pushing up my sleeves. Her touch is comforting in her own way, both soft and stern. Just what I need right now.

"They're fine." I tell her, my voice a little scratchy from the screaming and crying. "They flare up a little bit in the cold sometimes, but other than that, they're fine." I reply as she continues to inspect them. She also checks the ones on my left side and right shoulder, them being the largest out of all of the burns.

"I still think that was an incredibly idiotic idea." She tells me sternly, poking the tribal tattoo of a bird on the left side of my chest, right above my heart. I roll my eyes but don't say anything back. We have had this argument countless times and I don't want to start it again. We have done enough fighting for one day.

"They look good." She mutters, now referring to my burns. She quickly rubs some soothing salve on them before putting my gloves back on and rolling my sleeves here back down for me. She them moves to retrieve something from one of her desk drawers, and I watch her, still feeling bad for yelling at her.

"Here." I look down at her hands and see Moira giving several familiar thin cylinders to me and my eyes widen. I grab at them but she pulls back her arm just out of my reach with a dead serious face. I gasp. Frustration bubbles up in me and I am tempted to take them by force. I raise my eyebrow at her, ready to tackle her if it means I will get the silver cylinders, but she is ready to stop that track of my mind with a scary look of her own. "Give him only one a day Wren." Her voice tells me there is no room for argument and I keep my mouth shut, hoping that if I do then she will give them to me quicker. "Please be careful with these. This is very easy to overdose.

"One. A. Day."

I nod quickly, eager to get back home. He needs these. "I will." I say earnestly. Moira studies me for a sew seconds with a critical eye before slowly handing them to me. Snatching them up quickly, I wrap them up them in a soft cloth before gently placing them in the inside pocket of my too large leather jacket. I can feel her looking at me warily.

"You can trust me Moira." I say, turning to look her in the eye.

"I know." She sighs with an exhausted smile. "You just worry me sometimes."

I laugh a little at that and stand, my short height seeming even shorter next to Moira. I place a hand on her shoulder and look up at her with what I hope to be an encouraging smile on my face.

"I can take care of myself."

She just nods and walks back to her desk.

"Maybe I'll see you soon." I say softly in farewell.

"I certainly hope not."

I know she means it in a good way.

* * *

"You're up early."

That is the first thing I say upon entering the apartment to find my father sitting at the dining room table, sipping a glass and staring through the sun filtered window, probably wondering what he's no longer seeing. His head whips in my direction at the sound of my voice but he looks a little too far to my left, missing by only a few inches.

"A little to the right Dad." I tell him and I know he can hear the smile in my voice. He looks directly at me I can now see his glazed over milky blue eyes, obscuring the once clear grey that they once were, along with his vision. I purposely make my footsteps louder so he can hear where I step, his cataract covered eyes following my every move. I grab an apple, my favorite food, from the kitchen counter and sit across from him, dumping his old leather jacket I was wearing and munching on my breakfast.

"You want one?" I ask.

"Not hungry." That worries me. He has been eating less and less everyday. His body has been growing weaker and Moira's words from earlier enter my mind.

"You should eat." I push.

"I haven't grown hungry in the past two seconds, Wren." I scoff and he chuckles, his naturally raspy voice bringing comfort to me despite my slight irritation.

"Come here." He gestures with his walking stick to his lap. "I want to look at you." I want to argue and try to get him to eat something, but the look on his face makes me stop. He looks almost sad. "It's been a while since I saw you last."

I nod even though he can't see me.

"Kay."

I reluctantly get up and sit delicately sit on his lap, only placing a fraction of my weight onto his lap, not wanting to irritate his burns.

He lifts his hands up and I take them, guiding them to my face. He feels every inch of it, seeing me through his hands. The roughnesses of his hands do not bother like they used to. They feel gentle and soft now, as if he is afraid of breaking an old porcelain doll.

"What color are your eyes?" He asks in a whisper and I freeze. I hold my breath, trying to keep myself from chocking up.

He's forgetting me.

More and more everyday he keeps asking me things that he once knew by heart. My eye color. Light brown. The color of my lips. Dark pink. The tone of my skin. Tan with touches of irritated pink thanks to the burns. He used to tell me what I looked like despite his vision, and now he can hardly remember anything. His memories are leaving him.

I sigh softly and he blinks quickly when my breath hits his face.

"Light brown." I say sadly.

His hands tangle themselves into my now dry hair and upon touching it he asks, "What color is your hair now? Have you ever changed it?"

"Nope." I answer. "It's still the some dark brown. There are still a few strands of your blonde hair too."

He smiles at that and cups both my cheeks with both his deformed hands. I place my own damaged hands over his and we stay like that for who knows how long, both remembering what used to be. I can tell he's thinking about his old self. He's wearing that longing look that he sometimes doesn't know he expresses, the one that tells me he longs to see again, to be able to walk without assistance, to feel the wind blow through his hair, and to be strong enough to wield his swords again. He looks so broken and all I want is for it to go away.

"I wish I could see you." He mutters with a bitter voice.

"You can see me just fine." I tell him softly, giving his hands another squeeze. He laughs and runs his hands over my face one more time, my hands still griping his. I smile while doing so, wanting him to picture me happy. This smile is not hard to fake.

"You look just like Nina." He whispers.

My smile threatens to falter and my eyebrows start to pull together at the mention of my mother. I don't like thinking about her. My time with her was short, but it was also long enough to remember hating her, feeling neglected and unwanted. But of course Dad doesn't know that. Even after all these years, after all that has happened, he still loves her. It astounds me, how he can still be in love with a dead woman who gave him nothing but bitterness, heartbreak and a troublesome daughter. I will never know how his brain works.

"I love you, Birdie." He tells me, pulling me out if my reverie.

"I love you too, Dad."

I notice him grimace when he thinks me eyes are closed.

"You hurting again." It's not a question, but a statement. I recognize the signs when I see them.

"Just a little." I nod.

"I got some more pain killers from Moira this morning." I announce as I lift myself from his lap and pull out the cylinders from his old coat I dumped on the table.

"Oh, Moira. How is she?"

"Still the same." I say with a sigh. "Healthy, happy I guess, in her own way...cranky. I scared her this morning." I announce proudly and he chuckles.

"Nice work, Wren." He complements, tugging on a piece of my long hair he still holds on his hand. "That woman has nerves of steel, I swear. The first thing she did when I rescued her was break my nose and crack my ribs."

"I don't doubt it." I tell him with a forced laugh while pulling off the cap of the cylinder with a 'pop'. I've heard this story many times but I don't bother to correct him. With a shake of my head, I gingerly grab his hand and move to stick the needle into his forearm, but he stops me with a startling grip to my arm.

"Don't." He tells me. His joking manner and left him and all i can see is him trying to look me pleadingly in the eyes, but he's looking at my nose instead. So close.

"What?" I confusedly ask, my eyes batting from the startle.

Don't what?

"Don't give me the drugs right now."

He can't be serious.

"Dad," I say exasperatedly, "you're hurting. This is the only way to make the pain go away."

"I'll be fine for a few more hours." He tells me while shaking his head. "The drugs make my mind foggy. I want to think clearly for a little bit."

"Come on-"

"Please." He cuts me off.

I hesitate. I want so badly to give him the painkillers, scared that in a few hours he will be screaming, crying for Mom and begging me to end him. It would not be the first time it has happened.

"Please." He says again.

"Fine." I whisper. "But you tell be the second the pain becomes too much, promise?"

"I promise."

I sigh and slowly put the cap back on. I go to the two biohazard boxes that sit on the counter under the window and slowly place the new cylinders inside the smaller one.

"Dad, I-"

Wait.

What is that?

Something catches my attention in the corner of my eye. I turn my head towards the window and see it.

There is a little flower sitting on the open window sill. But it's not just any flower.

No.

Oh, please.

Dread fill my chest.

Oh God no.

Just the sight of it makes me back away in fear.

It can't be.

How? When?

It's nit just an flower. It's the kind of flower that fills my veins with fear. One that reminds me of things that I would rather forget. One that fills my head with horrifying memories of fire and betrayal.

This flower only grows in one place in the world. One place that used to be called my home. My safe haven.

This little blue flower can only belong to The League of Shadows.

* * *

**Ooooohhhhhhh! Cliffhanger! How'd you all like it? What do you think of the characters of far? Especially Wren. One of my biggest fears of creating a character who is a Mary Sue, so please let me know if it looks like Wren is heading down that road. **

**Oh, and tell me what you all thought of the lyrics at the beginning! Maybe I'll give you a little Quiz!: **

**Can any of you guess the song and the band without looking it up?**

**And Question: How old you you think Bane is? I personally have no sure idea, but I would guess maybe his mid to late thirties? What do you think?**

**Please let me know!**

**-IAmTheStars **


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